


The Day After

by Slumber



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Post-Battle of Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2011-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26381767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slumber/pseuds/Slumber
Summary: The day after the battle at Hogwarts.
Collections: 30-minute Writer's Block Challenge





	The Day After

The sun was high, and on the lake's lazy waves it looked like glittering gems. From far-away came hooting and the flapping of wings from a dozen owls. Somewhere the Whomping Willow sighed, rustling leaves where a field mouse wove past its gnarled roots. The Forbidden Forest was silent, as it always was, its denizens creeping back into their secret holes at the first rays of morning.

Where a few curious creatures might have started their day waking up in the land behind Hagrid's hut, there instead lay the crackled, seared remains of a wooden hut, a wooden roof, wooden furniture and a wooden home. 

Up ahead, where the strong stone walls of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry might begin rumbling with the waking of a thousand students dreading another full day of classes, there instead was a quiet sort of hush that enveloped its halls, an uneasy silence that hung thick above the air.

Inside the Great Hall, where four long rows of tables might have started producing food for breaking fast, there was instead rubble, makeshift cots and students nursing injuries, comforting classmates, looking for the living and counting the dead.

Neville wondered if victory ever meant to taste so bitter.

The Dark Lord was gone, vanquished at last by the boy-hero prophesied to defeat him. The Death Eaters had been rounded up and the Aurors had their hands full sorting arrangements for Azkaban now that they had no dementors to guard their cells. In a corner of the Great Hall, surrounded by a sea of red, Harry Potter sat, slumped against Ginny, looking so much older and so much more exhausted than Neville had ever seen. Ron had his arms around Hermione, and they were whispering to each other, as Neville had often seen them do.

Madam Pomfrey swept through the hall, a large tray of potions at her disposal. Neville saw the insistent limp in her gait, the cuts on her skin, and the way her fingers trembled as she administered potions on injuries, but she soldiered on, spurred by some invisible force that lingered long after the adrenaline of battle had long worn off for most. 

Not far behind her, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were talking to students. They carried parchment and quill and took down notes ever so often. He wondered what they were-- when Flitwick knelt on one weary knee to look beneath the blanket Neville had placed over Colin Creevey and jot something in his parchment, he wished he didn't know. His stomach churned. They were making a list of who had died and who had lived, and maybe who had gone missing.

He scanned the halls and found that Professor Sprout had gathered all sorts of plants onto one end of the Slytherin table, chopping Mandrake roots furiously, tirelessly.

"Do you need help, Professor?" he asked, making his way toward her, where he might be of use.

She shook her head, and when she spoke, her voice was heavy, holding none of the fondness it usually did when speaking with him. "I'm fine here, Mr. Longbottom," she said. "Perhaps you can see to your classmates instead?"

"All right, Professor," Neville said, glum. In truth, he didn't want to speak to his classmates right away. He knew they'd lost many people-- he didn't want to know who they were.

In separate clusters, where the Hufflepuffs would have sat for meals, groups of students had gathered around. They spoke softly, huddled closer than they would.

"McGonagall says to stay here," one of them was saying-- Hannah Abbott, Neville realized as he came closer. He hadn't even known she was in the castle. She'd missed all of seventh year, hiding from those who would accuse her of stealing a wand that had always been hers. "She said she'd look for him after, but--"

"I'm sure he's fine, Hannah," Terry Boot told her. He rested a hand on hers, squeezed it. "I'm sure they all are."

"Who?" Neville asked, feeling like an intruder. He stood a few feet away, standing awkwardly with hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched over.

"Ernie," Hannah whispered. In her hands she clung to a worn piece of parchment. "Her mother owled, but the owl went to me this morning. I don't know where--"

"We haven't seen him since last night," Terry said. "He and Anthony went to make sure the younger years were fine, but--"

"He told me not to come here," Hannah said, biting her lip. Her shoulders shook a little. "Told me it wasn't safe. If he's-- oh, I will _kill_ him if he didn't heed his own--"

Neville looked around. The professors were taking care of the students, and the students were going to be okay. They had to be. There was little else he could do now, and if one thing could help, then--

"Hey," he said. "I bet he's fine. I bet he's with Anthony and the younger years and they've found someplace to hide, but they don't know what's going on yet."

Terry nodded. "He knows what he's doing," he added.

"Let's go find them, okay?" Neville said, his hand on Hannah's shoulder. "Let's go tell them the war is over."

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider donating to local organizations who support trans individuals in your area.


End file.
